


Fading Shadows

by sibley (ferns)



Category: Stargirl (TV 2020)
Genre: Diary/Journal, Dubious Morality, Gen, Immortality, Introspection, Past Character Death, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28153536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferns/pseuds/sibley
Summary: The days following the death of the Justice Society of America, from the diary of Richard Swift.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Fading Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, I don't know enough about very basic HTML to change the font for this work to the "handwritten" cursive one I used to write it. I'm also very afraid that I'll wind up talking pretentiously for weeks after publishing this because I really got into the headspace of it here. If that turns out to be the case, I apologize. 
> 
> All I think needs to be warned for here is past character death, because this is set directly following everybody getting murdered on Christmas Eve. I also think the Shade absolves himself of more than he necessarily should, and he definitely was still down to murder people, JSA included. I hope I made that clear here.

**_From the diary of Richard Swift, archived September 12th, 2042 by Kyle “Teddy” Knight._ **

_December 26th, 2010_

The Flash is dead.

I informed his widow, Joan. I cannot say I blame her for throwing a shoe at me when I appeared beside her fireplace and told her the unfortunate news of her husband’s passing. I told her as much as I could about the circumstances before I took my leave. I think she always knew that it would happen like this, him falling in the line of duty beside good comrades. I, for one, always thought it would be the case, as much as I hoped otherwise—there is was no other man more deserving of a kind death surrounded by friends and loved ones than Jay Garrick. If there was ever a superhero worthy of the title…

But I digress. I turn to writing, as I often have, in order to lay out my plan of action. And to decide exactly what that plan even entails.

With the Flash dead, I could simply extend the retreat to my home that I have already taken as I wait for a new vigilante to step into his shoes, just as I did when he originally announced his retirement all those years ago and I found myself facing The Spider. But who could ever compare to the Flash? No matter how accomplished the successor, they’ll never truly live up to him. Perhaps if there was a replacement he himself had chosen or trained… but no. Instead, here we are, with a void in Keystone that I must watch from afar.

The first thing I must do is tender my resignation from the murderous Injustice Society of America.

Perhaps it is hypocritical to call them “murderous.” _I_ am _certainly_ murderous myself, whenever I have the need to be. But it is an apt description of how they have behaved, no? Murder should be as all crimes, a gentleman’s game. I was apprehensive, when I heard of Jordan’s plan to kill the Justice Society. It had never worked for anybody else. Surely it wouldn’t work now. I was a fool. Rarely these days do I find myself surprised. But watching the Justice Society, including the Flash, be cut down like wheat… that was quite a shock, one felt even beneath the layers of shadow.

Of course, some members live on. Jordan informed me that Hourman survived, and that while Starman— _this_ Starman, not the first nor likely the last—perished, his sidekick may yet be alive. Those who left years ago, ones like Black Canary, Liberty Belle, Commander Steel, and all those other Starmen, are the survivors of that night. They no longer include the Flash among their number. His body was not recovered, I’m sure to the dismay of his wife, but there is little doubt that he perished.

Oh, but he was beautiful when he did. That bright scarlet and golden starburst of his lightning rending him from this plane. His charming helmet was the only thing left of him, aside from the scorch marks. It was like watching a firework, or perhaps a sun’s implosion. If he had to die here, in battle, as he was perhaps meant to, he went out with all the theatrics I’ve come to expect from him when he gives me the pleasure of beginning one of our duels.

I do fear his death may have been my fault as much as it is the rest of the Injustice Society’s, which is a true shame after all that time and effort I went to in order to save his life. I don’t think the rest of my reluctant compatriots ever quite understood our relationship to each other. Jordan and Henry always seemed to strike against anyone equally. Lawrence Crock has his favorite toy, yes, but I am loath to admit that I might perhaps share some qualities with that man in his rivalry with Green Lantern. At least Ms. Brooks had, if not some sense of honor, a sense of pride in her antagonization of Wildcat. William at least understands the value in gentlemanly conduct even if he does not share my infatuations with heroism and the ones who perform it. Sharpe and his skirmishes with Doctor Mid-nite seemed to be a coward’s game, hiding behind a computer and letting his opponent fight his lackeys with fists, and while he chose his target carefully, there never seemed to be any kind of goodwill between them. The Fiddler and I have some common ground, as he and I both shared Keystone City as our playground and the Flash as our opponent, but he seemed remorseless, when it came to his attempts at hypnotizing the Flash to run into Jordan’s clutches. Grundy, I believe, perceives much more than he is given credit for, but I doubt he would weigh any member of the Justice Society as his enemy against the others. No, they never understood, nor do I expect they ever will.

The only thing to do is to leave. Opal is lovely this time of year—though when isn’t she?—and the study I write this passage in asks me to stay in the comforting scratch of the pen on paper. Jordan has been whispering to the rest of us about his grand plan. Since his poor wife fell ill, he’s had a stronger drive to set right that which he views as wrong. I confess, our ambitions have some overlap. I see little downside to the eradication of certain societal evils. In fact, I am sometimes convinced Jordan could have quite the future as a politician with the kind of talk he has been engaging in. It’s a matter of _means,_ not ends. It is not Jordan’s own actions but the actions of the rest of the Injustice Society that I find objectionable. I’ve bloodied my hands on many an occasion. Sometimes even for noble causes and not out of opportunity and what could be called greed. As I’ve previously stated, it would be hypocritical of me to find the mere act of murdering the Justice Society at odds with my moral code. But perhaps an immortal can be begrudged space to mourn the loss of one of the few he could have considered to be his friend. No, more than a friend. A true equal.

Yes. I’m afraid I will resign from the Injustice Society. If Jordan will allow me parting words, I will warn him that nothing good comes of this kind of bored control. He’s likely to wind up dead if he continues to go down this path, and I’ll have no sympathy for him if he does.

Oh, Jay… I do miss you already, you dashing hard-helmeted _hero_ of a man. Perhaps one day we’ll meet again.

  
  


**_From the diary of Richard Swift, archived September 12th, 2042 by Kyle “Teddy” Knight._ **

_January 2nd, 2010_

Jordan has declared war on me. Exhausting, really. He’s not the first, and though that preternatural cold he exudes can weaken me when he exerts the effort, he can’t lay a finger on my shadow self. Out of all of them, I only consider Brainwave to be any sort of credible threat. Anybody who can influence the mind without the need for channeling tools is a dangerous person to face. Still, though, this news is far more tedious than it is threatening. After all this time, death threats become passing entertainment. Nothing more. And I find little amusement in watching their little club turn on me and each other. 

Onto more pressing matters.

I sought out the survivors of the massacre today. Hourman and… considering the moniker I bear, perhaps it isn’t quite fair to judge others on their choice in alias, but I should hope that if I ever called myself something as foolish as “Stripesy” as a grown man, I’d find myself on the receiving end of a few good hits on the head. I didn’t speak to them. I have no reason to alert them of any of Jordan’s coming plans. Simply put, I wanted to see if it was true that they had made it out alive only to satisfy my own curiosity.

I didn’t linger long. Merely glanced in on them. Hourman was harder to track down. But he’s certainly alive, albeit moving cross-country with his wife and young son for what seems like a fool’s errand. I could have warned him that he’s heading in the right direction, considering where Jordan spoke of moving his dying wife to for her health, but what would be the point? He can’t hope to stand against them, though it might be at least interesting if he tried. Fortunately, he was already meeting with his companion at the time of my visit. I followed him home afterward, as he interests me more than the sidekick does, any personal admirations of previous Starmen aside.

I don’t think I’ll stop by to see them again, to be frank. But I’m reminded of my own family, to see them with theirs. Perhaps I should make the trip to Barcelona. It’s pleasant there in the winter, much more so than in other Spanish cities. I’m due for a visit, anyway.

I have not much to be thankful for, when it comes to the tired machinations of the Injustice Society. But at least they do not know about my daughter. Though I cannot help but imagine what a treat it would be to watch her rend the flesh from their bones. 

**_From the diary of Richard Swift, archived September 13th, 2042 by Kyle “Teddy” Knight._ **

_January 15th, 2010_

I have recently had the pleasure of returning home once again to find a delightful old friend waiting for me.

As far as I was aware, Mikaal was traveling the Dasht-e Kavir and would continue to do so until March. But instead he arrived the day before yesterday, with photos and stories to share of his time abroad. I always enjoy seeing him, and it was a wonderful surprise. He says there’s a lovely young man he’s met and is considering continuing his travels with. That’s how you know it’s gotten serious—when you’re willing to go an adventure together. Ah, my dear Sanderson… I haven’t thought of him in some time. This kind of weather drives sentimentality, I suppose.

I told Mikaal of the things that had happened in his absence. That the Justice Society was dead, and that I had been present when the trigger was pulled. He knows me well enough to know that I took no joy in participating, though he did have words of reprimand for bearing largely-silent witness to the execution of one of the first Starman’s chosen successors. He didn’t seem to find it amusing when I told him that _he_ was the only Starman I particularly liked and cared for, now that Jack has settled into his life away from capes and such. I wouldn’t have allowed such behavior from the Injustice Society if it had been one of them marked for death row. While this didn’t placate Mikaal, he was glad to hear that I had severed my ties to the organization, if somewhat concerned for my safety when I told him my parting was less than amicable.

Another friend I am grateful that Jordan and his henchmen do not know about. I seem to have more of these than I thought.

**_From the diary of Richard Swift, archived September 13th, 2042 by Kyle “Teddy” Knight._ **

_January 22nd, 2010_

An attempt on my life was made today, orchestrated proudly by the Injustice Society of America. It was adorable, really, that they thought it would do something. They sent Brainwave after me. Henry, Henry, Henry, such a foolish man. He spent time in the depths of the shadows for that one. Only an hour or so. I didn’t have time to deal with him otherwise. He’s lucky he stumbled out with his mind intact. I think it dealt him more damage because of his incredible skill of telepathy. Good. Hopefully he understands how much he owes me for not freeing his repulsive little soul from his wretched body. 

It was quite illuminating on how I am viewed by Jordan and his men. And woman, of course. We cannot forget Ms. Brooks. I’m a worthy enough opponent to send _Henry_ after me. Or perhaps Jordan recognized the insult it would be if he sent someone like Lawrence Crock to kill me. That I certainly wouldn’t have been able to stand for. Men like that taint the name of villainy and, somewhat ironically, good sportsmanlike conduct. Thankfully I am still good enough for the telepath. I imagine it’ll be humiliating when Brainwave has to return while licking his wounds to tell Jordan that he failed. I don’t dare be a metaphorical fly on the wall when it takes place, but I’ll think of it whenever I need something to cheer me up.

It was then, as I entered my garden, that I thought of the Flash. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that I thought of Jay himself as a man, not as a god. Jay, so bold and brave. There was a hero. One could call me biased, but I don’t think any of the rest of the Justice Society ever lived up to him. To me he was perfection. He had wit and guile and wisdom, and _that_ was what first drew my attention all those years ago. So many of the heroes these days think they can dress in a bright costume and step out into the uncaring sun and punch a few bank robbers on the nose and be done with it. Not my Flash. No, no, no, he was a man who knew what it was to truly wield his power.

I like to think of him, in his prime. Not that I believe he ever left it. I enjoy recalling him in general, but there is a certain tinge of melancholy to it now. To know I’ll never joust with him again strikes my heart deeply, I wish I could see him again. One last great game. But I fear it will never come to pass. Alas, his disappearance was final.

Perhaps by tomorrow there shall be another Injustice Society member at my door to try to finish me off. I should hope they send William next time. His magics are not as deep as my own, but I think we could have a lovely lunch together before I’d have to make sure he didn’t live to try to threaten me again. As long as it isn’t Lawrence. God, anybody but him.

**_From the diary of Richard Swift, archived September 14th, 2042 by Kyle “Teddy” Knight._ **

_January 30th, 2010_

I cannot believe it. I truly cannot believe it. Even as I put it down in writing, I struggle to fully convince myself of the events of this past day.

Jordan sent _Sportsmaster_ and _Tigress_ after me. _Me._ The Shade. 

Lawrence Crock is a menace. He’s lucky I didn’t tear his head from his shoulders. He’s an insult to the name of supervillains everywhere. That frenzied enthusiasm of his is a charm that wears off fast, if it can even be called a charm at all. Any man who calls himself “Sportsmaster” is a man who doesn’t appreciate the finer things. Him and Green Lantern were made for each other, truly. Men who’d rather fight with fists than with any kind of refinement.

I have less to say on the topic of Ms. Brooks. I do admire her dedication to her sport, and how she does it much less _loudly_ than that husband of hers. But she’s still as much a butcher as he is. She gets too much enjoyment from slaughter. Now, that isn’t to imply that I’ve never found a thrill in the kill. The Spider should proudly serve as an example of a death I enjoyed carrying out. However, death should remain a means to an end, not the game itself. It breeds too much lust—not that I am a stranger to that in particular. I think again of my Sanderson, my Margueritte, my Elizabeth, my Hope. I think of Jay. Lust for a body is one thing. Lust for bloodshed is quite another. Shrikes, the both of them, fixing to impale as many as they can upon their claws.

It is not a matter of opportunity that they were left alive, but a matter of circumstance. As they attempted to strike, I was heading to attend an art showcase with Mikaal, before he leaves for Western Asia again. I didn’t want to keep him waiting, so I simply sent the two would-be assassins on their way. Unfortunately it spoiled the mood for the rest of the afternoon. Mikaal noticed, and offered his own services as protection surrounding my home. Sweet, yes, but ultimately unnecessary. I do my work well as-is without his assistance, and he has a lover to return to across the sea. I more than trust him to hold his own should Jordan attempt to strike at him for whatever reason.

It’s an insult, really, to have the two of them sent after me. Perhaps I should write a note telling the Injustice Society to stop playing and go back to working on their supposed epic machinations. Jordan’s sickly wife must be doing poorly in the midwestern snow. Surely he has more important things to worry about than my lack of care toward their bright futures. He certainly will if he attempts to test me again. 

**_A copy of a letter written by Richard Swift and sent via shadow to the Injustice Society of America, archived October 3rd, 2042 by Kyle “Teddy” Knight. Copy recovered with thanks to Elizabeth Chapel._ **

_February 5th, 2010_

To Jordan Mahkent of the Injustice Society of America,

I hope this letter finds you and your family in good health as spring begins its first suggestive stirrings on the horizon. If your wife would like one of the roses from my garden for her own collection, please don’t hesitate to ask. I am writing with a simple request; that being, that you stop this ridiculous charade at once and continue going about your business before I am forced to embarrass you and whichever attempted killer you decide to send after me next by leaving their head in the center of your table. 

I have no intention of interfering with your plan for your “new America.” Quite frankly, while I will be surprised if you manage to pull it off, I wish you no ill will in this venture. However, if you don’t wish to find out if it is truly possible for hell to freeze over, I would suggest you stop playing children’s games with me and resign yourself to being content with the distance I have placed between myself and the rest of your co-conspirators.

If you or any of them set foot in Opal City, I will know, and I will take it as a personal offense and respond as such. The Condor patrols the city in the absence of the Starmen such as the one you neatly executed, and he leaves many shadows in his wake. Do not doubt how I will know if you attempt to sneak over the border.

Finally, if you truly decide that it is in your club’s best interest to find and kill me, please send someone enjoyable next time, or I will feel even more offended than I already do after having to deal with your sniveling telepathic assistant and attack dogs.

Yours very sincerely,

The Shade

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me being a Shade apologist @augustheart on tumblr.


End file.
